Although the reflection that her worst anticipation had not been realised brought her pleasure, she could not avoid feeling disappointed that he had not come to her before he had slept. It seemed so ridiculous to think that although they were within a mile of each other they were still apart. When they had parted it was with such words as suggested that neither of them had a thought for any one except the other. Then through the long years she at least had no thought except for him; and yet they were still apart. It seemed, too, as the morning advanced, that he had no intention of coming to her this day either. But if such a thought occurred to her it was soon proved to be an unworthy one, for he came to her shortly after noon. She was sitting in the room where he had said his good-bye to her long ago. She heard a step on the gravel of the drive and knew it at once. In a moment all the dreary years had slipped away from her like a useless garment. Once more she felt like that shy girl who had listened in dreadful secrecy and with a beating heart for the coming of her hero--her lover. She felt now as she had felt then--trembling with joyous anticipation, not without a tinge of maidenly fear. She buried her face in her hands, saying in a whisper: “Thank God--thank God--thank God!” And then he entered the room. CHAPTER XIII |She had feared, ever since she had been thinking of his return, that she would not be able to restrain her tears when they should be together. The very thought of meeting him had made her weep; but now when she turned her head and saw the tall man with the complexion of mahogany and the hands of teak--with the lean face and the iron-grey hair, she did not feel in the least inclined to weep--on the contrary, she gave a laugh. The change in his face did not seem to her anything to weep about; she had often during the previous three months tried to fancy what he would be like; and it actually struck her as rather amusing to find that he bore no resemblance whatsoever to the picture she had formed in her mind of the man who had lived for several years the life of a savage. He stood looking at her for a few seconds. Neither of them spoke. Then he advanced with both hands outstretched. “Agnes! Agnes!” he cried, “I have come to talk with you about him--Dick--poor Dick! You saw him on the day that ruffian killed him. You can tell me more than the others about him.” He had both his hands held out to her--not outstretched in any attitude of passionate eagerness, but with encouraging friendliness; that was exactly what his attitude suggested to her--encouraging friendliness. She put both her hands into his without a word--without even rising. He held them for a moment while he looked into her face. There was an expression of restlessness on his face. She saw that his forehead was furrowed with many lines. His eyes were sunken, and there was a curious fierceness in their depths.